


Awake

by branewurms



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other, Penis Size, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/branewurms/pseuds/branewurms
Summary: From tumblr, written for the anonymous prompt of Asra riding Muriel.———Asra looks otherworldly in the firelight. But he certainly smells real enough, of herbs and incense resins and smoky tea, of petrichor and salt sweat. He’s here, he’s real. This is real.





	Awake

Muriel doesn’t know where to put his hands. Doesn’t know where to point his eyes. He isn’t quite sure how he got here, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he’s terrified of getting this wrong. Of hurting this person he’s spent his life wanting to protect.

Muriel can’t quite process it. His senses are overwhelmed, giving him only too-sharp flashes of images and heat and texture. It’s like one of those slippery dreams that Muriel never quite remembers, nothing but wisps of haunting beauty that cling until he shakes them away.

Asra looks otherworldly in the firelight. But he certainly smells real enough, of herbs and incense resins and smoky tea, of petrichor and salt sweat. He’s here, he’s real. This is real. Asra, Muriel’s oldest friend. His _only_ friend for so long, the only precious thing Muriel had had for years and years.

Asra, with his soft, dandelion-fluff of hair, his smooth, unblemished skin, and his gentle, clever hands. With his knowing eyes and his playful smiles. Surely he doesn’t belong here, straddling Muriel’s scarred tree trunk of a body. Surely he wasn’t made to be touched by the likes of Muriel. Certainly not like _this_.

Well. In a more than figurative sense. Asra’s so small, a little smaller even than an average person, and Muriel is so—well, _not_ small. Nothing about Muriel is small, certainly not _that_.

Sweat glistens all over the suede-smooth expanse of Asra’s body, and his ribs rise and fall with his heaving breath. His brow is furrowed, his eyes screwed shut, the expression somewhere between deep concentration and pain—and it must be pain, mustn’t it? Hell, it’s even hurting Muriel a little, this scalding heat wrapping around his member tight as a vise, never mind all the oil they’d used.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Muriel feels a pang of alarm in his chest. He should have said no. He’s not safe for someone so gentle, so small, so soft. Of course he isn’t.

Asra hisses out long and slow through his teeth as he sinks down the rest of the way, taking Muriel to the hilt. Strangling a groan, Muriel grits his teeth against his body’s compulsion to buck. There’s a strange tingling shooting up his spine, down the backs of his legs, making his legs twitch and his toes curl.

His hands reach out, but then hang uselessly in the air, unsure what to do. He struggles to make his mouth and throat work in unison to form words.

What words? He doesn’t have any.

Hell, does it matter? Anything will do. Just say something. _Speak_.

“...hey,” he manages, with enormous effort.

Asra blinks open his eyes. Notices Muriel’s hands hovering there in front of him. Asra gently, so gently, takes one of Muriel’s hands, then the other, guiding each to settle on either side of Asra’s narrow hips.

Muriel swallows heavily. “This…” Muriel tries. “Are you…”

Asra gives him a strained little smile. “I’m fine, Muri. I haven’t taken anything as big as you before. I just need a little time to adjust.”

Muriel’s face burns at that. “Doesn’t it… hurt?”

“A little,” Asra admits easily, like it doesn’t matter. Why wouldn’t it matter? Of course it matters. “But it's a good pain.”

“‘ _Good…?’_ ” What the hell is a ‘good’ pain? What does that even mean? How can pain be ‘good’? Is Asra just trying to placate him?

But no, Asra wouldn’t—and Muriel can see for himself that Asra’s erection hasn’t flagged. The flush on Asra’s face, his glazed and heavy lidded eyes… That doesn’t look like any kind of suffering.

“Hmm,” Asra says patiently, squinting in thought—like they’re just having a conversation, like this is all perfectly normal, like Asra hasn’t just taken Muriel’s dick up inside of his body. “You know… It's little bit like when something’s itching at you, like a burr got in your trouser leg or something, and it’s driving you crazy? And then you brush it away, and you scratch at the itch really hard. So hard it kinda hurts, but the hurt is also…a relief?”

Something in Muriel’s chest clenches, and his eyes sting, and he doesn’t understand why. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. It takes a breath or two before he can speak again.

“You… All right,” he allows, his voice sounding even more gravelly than usual to his own ears. “Uh—what should I—”

“It’s okay. Just follow my lead.” Asra smiles, those dimples forming in his cheeks, and it’s so hard to _breathe_. “Hmm. Can you brace me, so I can relax my body more as I move?”

That simple question does something inexplicable to Muriel’s whole body; there’s a prickling, overwhelming wash of pure sensation, and his skull feels like it’s squeezing his brain too tight. His vision mists over. For a few hysterical seconds he’s afraid he might actually pass out. He shuts his eyes and takes a few deep breaths through his nose. Opens them again.

He gives Asra a short nod, and Asra gives him another heartrending smile in return. He watches as Asra moves one of Muriel’s big, scarred hands up higher to Asra’s chest, watches him lean forward against it. Muriel spreads his fingers out against all that warm, bare skin, taking the weight so easily Asra might as well have the bones of a bird.

Asra shifts his hips in a slow, experimental roll, lithe muscle and sinew rippling beneath Muriel’s hands, and that strange, spine-tingling heat grips and slides against Muriel’s shaft. Muriel’s head falls back; he hears himself make a sound unlike anything he’s ever heard himself make before, like nothing he thought could come from his own mouth.

Asra looks as astonished as Muriel, wonder spreading slow and sweet across his features. With his own soft hand, Asra grips Muriel’s wrist and gives it a squeeze, holding on as he begins to ride Muriel properly, lifting up, sinking down, smooth and sure and sinuous.

Asra’s mouth falls open on a guttural moan.

Something in Muriel breaks at the sound, something he’d locked up so deep he had forgotten it was even there—did he _ever_ know it was there? Every nerve in his body is singing awake. Gasping for air, he wills himself to hold still, so very still—oh, be careful, he must be _so_ careful. He watches Asra with wide-open eyes, hypnotized, committing every detail of this to memory.

“ _Fuck_ , Muri,” Asra hisses. “So full… Feels so good…”

His chest hurts. It _hurts_. It feels like heartbreak, maybe, but he suspects it’s just the opposite. He gets it now, he understands how something that hurts can feel good. Can feel right.

And oh. _Oh_. He feels so awake. He’s been asleep, hasn’t he, his whole life he’s been asleep, and now his most precious person is here, riding his cock, and this is impossible, _absurd_. It should be an embarrassing dream, a fantasy to hide away even from himself. But it’s real, and he’s awake.

He’s _awake_.

**Author's Note:**

> another one that just got away from me orz
> 
> i loff muriel... so much... this marshmallow filled weirdo... muriel route when please


End file.
